


permutations: outtakes

by boundinshallows (museme87)



Series: permutations [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Male Character, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Parenthood, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/boundinshallows
Summary: A series of one-shots that occur outside the main "permutations" fic.Tags added as I update. Please check out the chapter notes for a sense of where ficlets occur in the main fic.
Relationships: May Carleton/Alfie Solomons, May Carleton/Tommy Shelby, May Carleton/Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: permutations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620259
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	permutations: outtakes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tumblr prompt: "may/tommy/alfie + first." This fic occurs in (the as yet unposted) chapter 3 between part XXIII and XXIV.

Alfie’s very fucking quickly come to the conclusion that whoever came up with the phrase _sleeping like a baby_ never had one, did they? But this little one—forty-eight hours on this bleeding earth, right—and she’s barely closed her eyes. And as far as Alfie’s concerned, the hospital shouldn’t even send them home if the baby’s not sleeping. Just common sense, that. He’d said as much when the doctor announced May could go home earlier today, and the attending nurse bloody well _laughed_ at him before she could stop herself. Alfie’d spent the rest of their time in hospital helping Tommy pack up May’s things and taking long, uncertain looks at Amelia swaddled up in her arms.

Now Amelia is in _his_ arms, not fussing exactly but giving unhappy little grunts every minute or two. Every time she does, Alfie’s eyes snap to May, who’s fallen asleep sprawled on the sofa with Charlie curled against her hip. May hasn’t stirred though, not for the past twenty minutes. And Alfie supposes that’s for the best because he’d seen things he can’t _unsee_ —when Amelia was being born, hadn’t he—and he doesn’t know how a body can recover from all that. But they apparently _can_ , or so he’s been fucking told, so he’d rather May do that—sleep and heal up—because _fucking hell_.

And Tommy, _Tommy’s_ off doing the laundry at half three in the morning because Charlie’s wet the bed and is apparently down to his last pair of pants. Alfie doesn’t even know how that happened, does he, since May’d shoved everything into the wash she possibly could just before Amelia was due, what with her nesting and all that. But it _did_ happen, according to Tommy, which is why Tommy’s sorting out Charlie’s bedding and pants while Alfie’s left with their baby. The baby who doesn’t fucking _sleep_.

Not for the first time does Alfie wonder if it’s genetic, right, because Christ knows Tommy doesn’t sleep either. But the thing is, she might have _his_ nose, so there’s no fucking telling is there? And Alfie, well, he doesn’t much care _who_ her father is—him, or Tommy, or sodding _Arthur_ of all fucking people—just so long as she closes her eyes and gets to sleep.

And he’s about to tell her as much, finger pointed at her and everything, but he gets distracted. Because Amelia—and it’s a very, very formal thing to call someone so little, so Alfie supposes that maybe he’ll have to find her a nickname—but, right, _Amelia_ , she looks so much like May that it catches him off guard. And she has this whole time, since they pulled her from between May’s thighs really. Sometimes Alfie thinks he catches a bit of himself, sometimes a bit of Tommy, but mostly it’s just May—his two dark haired beauties. Three counting Tommy, of course. (He and Charlie, they’re the odd men out, ain’t they?)

So Alfie returns his hand to her bum and rocks her a bit, trying to settle her angry snuffles. Cyril raises his head at the sharp sound and lowers it as she quiets quickly, entirely too fucking done with this newborn bullshit. Alfie can’t blame him.

“Goin’ to return you,” Alfie says, stroking her pudgy cheek.

Amelia—smart girl that she is—tells him exactly what she thinks of _that_ just as Tommy comes back into the lounge with a basket of little pants. Alfie pays him little mind as Amelia’s face turns red and scrunches.

“Or better yet, right in the bin with you.”

“I don’t think May would let us,” Tommy says, taking the baby into his arms and settling her against his chest.

Amelia doesn’t seem any sleepier or happier there than with her other father, but she’s not _crying_ so that’s something.

“Yeahhh,” Alfie sighs. “I think we’re stuck with the tadpole.”

“You’re never going to let us sleep again, are you, eh?” Tommy asks, bouncing her a bit in his arms.

 _No, not any time soon_ , Alfie thinks. But, he supposes, there’ll be time enough for that when they’re dead.


End file.
